The Red Redmaynes eBook

Thus the matter was settled. Mark had already
taken up his position in the chamber aloft and Bendigo
looked to it that he should not be interfered with.
It was Mr. Redmayne’s custom to keep the tower
room locked when not himself in it, and he did so
now until the night should come. He supped with
Jenny and the Italian, having already provided Brendon
with food in his hiding-place. It was understood
that the sailor would ascend to his den about eleven
o’clock, by which time Mark undertook to be
safely hidden in the cupboard.

At the agreed time Doria and his master came up together,
the former carrying a light. Jenny also joined
them for a short while, but she stayed only ten minutes
and then departed to bed. The weather had turned
stormy and wet. A shouting wind from the west
shook the lantern of the tower room and flung rain
heavily against the glass, while Bendigo moved restlessly
about and bent his brows to look out into the blackness
of the night.

“The poor devil will be drowned, or break his
neck climbing up from the sea in this darkness,”
he declared.

Giuseppe had brought up a jug of water, a bottle of
spirits, a little keg of tobacco, and two or three
clay pipes, for the old sea captain never smoked till
after supper and then puffed steadily until he went
to bed.

He turned now and asked Doria a question.

“You’ve cast your peepers over the poor
chap to-day,” he said, “and you’re
a clever man and know a bit of human nature. What
did you make of my brother?”

“I looked closely and listened also,”
answered the servant; “and this I think—­the
man is very sick.”

“Not likely to break out again and cut another
throat?”

“Never again. I say this. When he
killed Madonna’s husband, he was mad; now he
is not mad—­not more mad than anybody else.
He craves only one thing—­peace.”

CHAPTER VII

THE COMPACT

Bendigo lit his pipe and turned to his only book.
It was “Moby Dick.” Herman Melville’s
masterpiece had long ago become for the old sailor
the one piece of literature in the world. It comprised
all that interested him most in this life, and all
that he needed to reconcile him to the approach of
death and the thought of a future existence beyond
the grave. “Moby Dick” also afforded
him that ceaseless companionship with great waters
which was essential to content.

“Well,” he said to Doria, “get you
gone. Look round as usual to see that all’s
snug aloft and below; then turn in. Leave only
the light in the hall and the front door on the latch.
Did you mark if he had a watch to know the hour?”

“He had no watch, but Mrs. Pendean thought upon
that and lent him hers.”

Bendigo nodded and picked up a clay pipe, while Doria
spoke again.

“You feel quite steady in your nerves?
You would not like me to lie in readiness to come
forward if you want me!”